


July

by Libby_25cSoda



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: ? - Freeform, Angst, Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by a poem, Past Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, i think, idk it's pretty short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libby_25cSoda/pseuds/Libby_25cSoda
Summary: While investigating a potential new base for the Alliance, Luke runs into trouble.Inspired by the dictionary poem "July" by Keaton St. James, but is not itself a poem.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	July

**Author's Note:**

> I was walking home last night reciting July by Keaton St. James (@boykeats on tumblr), as you do, when my brain went "Okay but what if it was Star Wars" aaaaaand this happened. Enjoy!
> 
> The indented, italicized text is the poem and was written by St. James, not me. The text of the fic itself is my own.

  * _1) Time beats away like the bass pounding in my chest, rhythm flooding arteries and veins in time with the days slipping into nights dripping with music and heat. Fatigue makes me feel it in my blood; my body crumbles into itself as the sun drowns slowly in the horizon._



Luke’s heart beat quickly, a metronome ticking time away in his ears as he crouched under the overhang of rocks. The Force sang in his blood along with adrenaline and he dispersed it across the landscape so that his father couldn’t pinpoint his location. He breathed heavily in the humid heat of the jungle planet.

After a full day of running from Imperials - _this planet was supposed to be uninhabited, a potential Alliance base, not an Imperial-occupied planet_ \- he was exhausted, and the pressure of his father trying to break his shields wasn’t helping.

Nor was the blaster wound across his chest, bleeding despite his hasty bandages made out of strips of his flight suit. The bright color across his torso might’ve given him away on another planet, but this one was blessedly suited for blending in even with the garish orange. The setting sun painted the landscape in shades of orange and red, further camouflaging him.

Over his loud breaths and the thudding in his ears, the sound of his father’s respirator approached and he tensed, spreading his signature out further. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer, though; focus bled out of him with every heartbeat.

Vader’s dark form, backlit by clouds dashed in red like the band across his chest, appeared out of the foliage. His skeletal helmet snapped to Luke, and he closed his eyes, feeling his harsh breaths slow against his will.

_Sleep, my son._

He collapsed, and the world fell into darkness.

  * _2) The hours have become rainfall, summer minutes and pools of sunlight gathering between my heart and lungs cracked open for tasting, flesh turned fresh fruit, ripe and ready to be eaten._



Time flowed around him, without meaning or end. But he could feel his wounds exposed to the air, the tugging as someone presumably dug out the rocks and dirt from his initial fall. He felt like a bantha laid out for slaughter, helpless to whatever his captors decided to do with him.

His mind, too, felt exposed, pinned down under lights to be carefully examined. Memories drifted at almost random, endless sunny days on Tatooine - playing in the canyons with Biggs, learning to pilot, fixing vaporators with Uncle Owen, learning to sew with Aunt Beru in the evenings, watching the suns set and hoping his father was out there waiting for him - mixing with days with the Rebellion - playing sabacc with Han and Chewie, flying and hanging out with the Rogues, late night talks with Leia, heart-pounding battles. Here, too, he could feel the subtle tugging and examination of the dark sun of his father, drinking in everything about Luke he could find.

  * _3) I feel the air like it is sweet and wet and swelling with dreams. It seems to me that lovers look so much softer when they sleep._



When he came to again, the air was sweet and artificial, and he felt the still-stinging wounds of his put-back-together body and mind. His entire being ached.

But when he reached out for some sense of his surroundings, someone reached back. Soothing and cool, draping over him like a blanket, sending him waves of _peace, security._

And images.

A man and a woman embracing, whispering to each other in the dark, smiles on both their faces. “ _This is the happiest moment of my life,_ ” he heard as if from a distance. The voice sounded like a lullaby. The woman and man took each other’s hands - the man’s was a prosthetic, he noted - and went into a bedroom, the door closing behind them.

_Rest, now._

He slept.


End file.
